


The Bandit Queen Rides Again

by SherlockianMuse



Series: The Bandit Queen Adventures [2]
Category: Muse, Rock Music RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 05:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianMuse/pseuds/SherlockianMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sinister, sexy forces are at work as Matt Bellamy innocently tends to his Devon vegetable patch...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bandit Queen Rides Again

Did you ever get the feeling you were being watched? Matt Bellamy was more familiar with the feeling than most, it being sort of an occupational hazard, but usually not while pottering around Devon looking deeply _un_ rockstar.

For the last few days, the skin on the back of his neck had been crawling with the sensation of hidden eyes observing him every time he set foot outside his front door, and he was starting to get seriously freaked out. Jumpy and suggestible by nature, Matt’s list of possible perpetrators of this ‘Bellamy Watch’ was infinite, and not necessarily entirely Earth-based. Everywhere he went. Walking from the house to the car, the car to the rehearsal rooms, wandering around the shops, in his own bloody garden! Paranoia was an old friend, but not normally quite so close.

After three solid days of the feeling and no clue as to where or who it was coming from, he was absolutely convinced he wasn’t imagining it and decided to tell Dom, always his first port of call when something was troubling him.

It was the end of the day, and Chris had already headed home to the pleasures of a doting wife and four ( _four_?! The man was a glutton for punishment. No wonder he never objected to their extensive tour schedule. Must be dying for a little peace and quiet) boisterous children, leaving Matt and Dom alone in their personal rehearsal space. Matt turned away from where he’d been messing with his amp set-up to find Dom sprawled on the couch, reading a drumming magazine (he wasn’t usually bothered with that sort of thing, but he had a free life-time subscription after being on the cover), and abruptly declared, “Dom, I’m being followed.”

“Of course you are,” Dom agreed vaguely, barely looking up. “Thousands of people follow your every move with fascination, though I’ve no idea why. You’re really not that interesting.” He went back to his reading.

“No,” Matt huffed. “I mean I am being followed right now by a specific individual. Stalked, if you will. I guarantee they’ll be waiting as soon as I step outside.”

Dom buried his face in his magazine and let out a muffled long-suffering groan. Reluctantly lowering it, he asked, “I know I’m going to regret asking, but... _why_ do you think this?”

“I don’t ‘think’, I know!” Matt cried, waving his hands about wildly. “Everywhere I go, _eyes_. Watching me. Waiting. For what, I don’t know.”

Rubbing his own eyes wearily, Dom gave in to the inevitable and replied, “Okay, Bells. Whatever you say. D’you have any evidence to support this ‘feeling’?”

“Evidence?” Matt scoffed. “No. They’re much too clever for that. Whoever they are...”

***

‘Whoever they are’ was bored, cold and pissed off. The Bandit Queen, a blooming desert flower when at home in her native Mexico, felt wilted and lifeless in the grip of a soul-sucking British winter. Senor Bellamy’s home was most disagreeable. Which was kind of appropriate, because so was Senor Bellamy. But he was also a rampaging sex beast of the deliciously _worst_ kind, making all this trouble worthwhile.

Since her arrival at Heathrow on a stolen passport a few days previously, the Bandit Queen’s sole mission had been trailing Senor Bellamy’s every move; quietly gathering information and biding her time until the perfect moment to strike revealed itself. She could tell by his increased twitchiness and perpetual nervous glancing over his shoulder that he knew someone was watching him, but the Bandit Queen remained confident that he had no idea who.

However, Senor Bellamy had almost caught sight of her in W.H. Smith’s (a baffling store full of books and sweets. In Mexico, a shop sold one or the other, not both) in Exeter. She’d been lurking behind a display of self-help books (was pathetic. Why did these English people no just down some tequila and get the fuck over it?!), trying to spot what he was buying, when he’d suddenly spun around and looked right where she’d been standing nano-seconds before. The Bandit Queen had only just managed to escape discovery. You had to give Senor Bellamy credit. He was a spoilt, whiny nerd, but he was no lacking in the brain department (she tried not to think about his pants department too much, as the way her eyes glazed over and she started panting tended to attract unwanted attention).

Her keen study of Senor Bellamy’s habits had revealed much to the Bandit Queen, and she felt the moment of revelation would soon be upon her. She knew he was no fucking any other women right now, that his hair was in dire need of attention, that his clothes were atrocious and ripe for immediate destruction, that he ate an inordinate amount of pasta (the Bandit Queen had greatly enjoyed spying in his kitchen window as he made it. Senor Bellamy a man of _many_ talents), and also that he was a crap gardener, though not through lack of effort.

The Bandit Queen had been most vexed that she was unable to see in his bedroom window, but was thrilled to find out he slept naked when he’d wandered downstairs one morning with no clothes on. She was sorely tempted to go back to her hideout for a ‘special’ lie down at this, but stopped herself with admirable restraint. The Bandit Queen took her stalking seriously.

Which was why she was loitering outside the entrance to Muse’s rehearsal rooms in a nipple-contractingly cold drizzle, waiting for Senor Bellamy to emerge. Oh, how she wished she could hear what was going on inside! The Bandit Queen was as anxious as the next fangirl for new songs, and had been discreetly salivating in anticipation ever since she’d read of the ‘symphonic monster’ on the messageboard. Senor Bellamy a terrible tease!

Senor Wolstenholme had already left, so that left him inside with Pedro’s crush, the blonde and bouncy Senor Howard. The Bandit Queen was examining her lustrous black hair, worried what all the moisture in the air was doing to it, when the door she was watching opened abruptly, forcing her to dart out of sight behind a conveniently-placed wheelie bin.

Senor Howard’s lazy drawl reached her as she spied shamelessly. “... seriously need to get some, Bellamy. You wouldn’t be this paranoid if you weren’t gagging for some attention from somewhere other than your own hand. Where’s this stalker, then?”

Matt scowled ferociously and did a meerkat-like sweep of the surrounding area. “Here. Somewhere. I can feel it,” Matt announced, fumbling with his keys as he opened the door of his red Mini. “And just because I choose not to star in my own personal reality porno like you does not mean I am sexually frustrated.”

Dom rested his arms on top of the car casually and grinned insanely. “’My own personal reality porno’, Bells? What’s it called, then?”

“’Dirty Dominic Does Devon’,” Matt replied with the hint of a smile. “Only you’ll have gone through every up for it woman in the county soon and you’ll have to start commuting to Cornwall for fresh pickings.”

“No, no. Cornwall won’t do at all. It doesn’t start with a D.” Dom stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Hmmm, where does? Aha! Dorset! It’s a bit of a drive, but it could work. ‘Deviant Dominic Defiles Dorset’.” A filthy smirk flitted across his face and Matt rolled his eyes as Dom continued eagerly. “And when we’re back on tour, I can go international. I can ‘do’ Denmark and... Well, I can’t think of anymore places that start with D right now, but you know what I mean.”

“Christ,” Matt complained, “I wish I hadn’t given you the idea now. Just get in the sodding car, Dirk Diggler. And know that I’ll be expecting a cut of the profits from this porn empire you’re planning.”

Clapping both hands over her mouth to stifle raucous laughter at this outlandish conversation, the Bandit Queen slumped back behind the concealing green plastic  as Senors Bellamy and Howard finally got in the car and drove away. It was _definitely_ time to make her move. She stood up, dusted herself down and went to find her own preferred mode of transportation. Senor Bellamy was in for quite a surprise...

***

Matt sighed as he flipped on the outside lights and wandered out the kitchen door to the back garden to check on his vegetable patch. He’d dropped Dom off at the hotel he’d been living at for the last month or so, declining his offer to grab some dinner for fear of being subjected to an evening of, “And then I can be debauched in Dubrovnik...” Dom had been no help whatsoever with Matt’s problem, but had certainly taken his mind off it for a while. Matt thought it was a bit stupid to have this whole big house and only him living in it, but Dom preferred the hotel, his dubious reasoning being it was easier to rid himself of unwanted company in the morning and he didn’t have to clean anything. Matt secretly suspected it was actually because he was worried his latest conquest would meet Matt and suddenly decide they preferred brunettes to blondes, but kept this to himself. So he was home alone once more, and it was time for his nightly, fruitless, check on his cabbages (he didn’t even _like_ cabbage. What the hell was he thinking?!).

This gardening shite was driving him batty. It took too long for anything to happen. Matt wasn’t patient. He liked immediate results, and so far he hadn’t had so much as a green shoot to show for all his efforts. Obviously it was the wrong time of year, but Matt disregarded this. The usual laws of nature didn’t apply to him. Still, he persevered, if only because he’d made such a big deal about how they should all be ‘living off the land’, and really did _not_ want to admit that being environmentally conscious was a lot more fucking work than he’d anticipated.

He stared down at the carefully ordered and labelled rows of dirt he’d lovingly crafted with his own hands, too preoccupied to be concerned with whether he was being observed or not, dying to spot even the smallest _hint_ of growth, which he could then exaggerate lavishly to the others. There! What was that? Could that be a tiny leaf poking through? Matt dropped to his knees to investigate further, absently muddying his trousers, and bent forward with such zeal his nose practically touched the wet earth. He was just reaching out tentative fingers to touch this apparent first evidence of his gardening prowess when he heard the most out of place sound you could hear on a winter night in suburban Teignmouth-

Hooves.

Flashbacks of sweltering Mexican heat, sombreros, rope, tequila and mind-warpingly hot, sweaty sex slowed Matt’s reaction time, and he’d barely raised himself back to the vertical when there was a swish of displaced air at his back, the noise of a large animal coming to an abrupt stop and then a hauntingly familiar restriction around his torso and upper arms. He was going to turn when the lasso (it was just so _humiliating_. What was he? A rogue cow?!) was jerked backwards harshly, forcing his feet out from under him and sending him tumbling to the ground, his head catching a glancing blow against the wooden border of the vegetable patch. There was a flash of white teeth in the corner of his eye, then darkness descended, and he knew no more.

***

Regaining consciousness with a start, Matt gasped and blinked, gaze shifting as he tried to figure out what fresh embarrassment had just befallen him. Taking several deep, calming breaths, he went to stand, only to find he couldn’t. Because he. Was tied. To. A. Chair. Nostrils flaring in rage, Matt whipped his head around, searching for the batshit crazy Mexican responsible, the mystery of his stalker suddenly solved. “Show yourself, mad woman. And bring me a freakin’ Panadol. My head’s throbbing thanks to your antics.”

“Ah, Senor Bellamy, how the Bandit Queen has missed your bitching,” a seductive, accented voice murmured in his ear. “And your head will no be the only thing _throbbing_ soon.”

Matt glared over his shoulder, startling blue eyes colliding with mischievously sparkling green ones, slanted and catlike in a radiant face. The corner of Matt’s lip twitched as he took in his captor, body already awash with an anticipatory tingle. “How the fuck did you find me, Bandit Queen?” He inquired with a raised eyebrow. “And what the fuck are you doing here?”

“You have potty mouth, Senor,” the Bandit Queen admonished, sweeping around his trapped form and boldly perching herself on his jutting knees. “We wash out with soap to teach you lesson, si?”

“Try it, bitch,” Matt growled, looking down into a deeply inviting dip of honey-hued cleavage and shifting uneasily against the seat, sweat starting to build on the back of his neck. He flipped his eyes back up with difficulty. “Now answer my questions.”

Tossing her raven hair, the Bandit Queen smirked and wound her arms around Matt’s fine white neck. “We explain, but only because we no mean to hurt you,” she said, delicately touching the swelling bump on his forehead. “Is simple, really. First of all, IBU... International Bandit Underground, si?” Matt gave a bemused nod. “Well, it know everything, so you not hard to find when you have connections like Bandit Queen. Second, we tired of never hearing news of you. No new photos, no new songs, nothing. Is no good enough! We must see, so we come. Plus, running own donkey farm is maybe no as exciting as you might think it is, so fancied adventure. Oh, and we no had the sex since we saw you last, and there only so much pile of pictures and Bandit Queen’s own fingers can do.”

“Riiiiight,” Matt laughed. He flexed his restricted arms and his irritation returned a little. “You couldn’t’ve just knocked on the door, then?”

“Pah!” The Bandit Queen exclaimed. “Doors for losers. We like make entrance in style, leave impression.”

“Well, you certainly managed that,” Matt replied. “And you’re riding a horse because...?”

“The Bandit Queen cannot drive,” she confessed, eyes lowering shamefully.

Entranced by her lush red mouth and intoxicated by her physical proximity, Matt decided to get straight to the point, fixing his most lecherous smile in place and tilting his head towards her, huskily asking, “So... Bandit Queen, darlin’. We both know why you’re here, so why don’t you untie me so we can fuck already?”

Jaw dropping in only half-feigned outrage, the Bandit Queen stood up and backed away, crossing her arms over her more than ample chest, staring at Matt with an assessing air. “We have business to attend to first, Senor. And if it no attended to our satisfaction, you be _fucking_ yourself.”

Tipping his aching head back, Matt groaned exasperatedly. Tied to a chair in his own living room, and the only thing he could think about was how soon he could get the woman responsible’s nimble fingers wrapped around his cock. Honestly, he was too in need of a good shag to put up much of a fight. “Alright, whatever,” he conceded grudgingly, leaning forward as much as possible to run his eyes up and down her sinfully curved figure. Finally clocking what she was wearing, he blurted, “Where did you get that outfit?!”

“Could ask you same question, Senor,” the Bandit Queen shot back, glancing down at her attire of knee-high black leather boots, second-skin white jodhpurs and cherry red blazer over a black satin corset. “But this? We stole from same place we got horse. There was shirt too, but could no do up over tits. Thought would help us blend in with locals. You no think it working?”

“Oh, it’s working alright,” he assured, “just not in the way you meant.” Matt looked away with a gulp, before her dig about his clothes registered. “Wait a minute,” he spat, eyes narrowing, “what’s wrong with _my_ outfit?!”

“What _right_ with your outfit is question, Senor,” the Bandit Queen replied, eyeing his ill-fitting leather jacket with manky fur collar, baggy t-shirt and hideous trousers with evident disgust. “But we deal with that later. First,” she held up one finger as she reached behind her and then held out the phone she’d picked up, “you call lovely Senor Howard and have him come round.”

“Hell no!” Matt refused without thought. “Dom is not seeing _this_. The ammunition it’d give him. I couldn’t bear it. Plus he’ll run straight to Chris. Then they’ll ring Tom... Months... _years_ of teasing will follow.”

“Senor Bellamy, we no asking,” the Bandit Queen informed him, “we telling.” Throwing the phone into his lap, where it collided rather painfully with his stirring arousal, causing Matt to moan in protest, she delved a hand inside her corset and extracted a crumpled piece of paper with a flourish. “Friend Pedro sent note for Senor Howard. We promised to deliver personally.”

“Pedro, eh?” Matt sniggered childishly, pain forgotten as he hastily decided seeing Dom’s reaction to this message of devotion from his erstwhile moustachioed Latin lover was worth the potential pisstaking. “Hold the phone to my ear, then, you sexy nutter. It’s speed dial one.”

***

Dom agreed to come over without protest, even though Matt refused to tell him why he had to drop everything and get to his place right this instant. It was the sort of thing Matt did, so he just shrugged and wandered to his car, letting himself in Matt’s front door fifteen minutes later and walking into the living room to find Matt strapped to a chair in the middle and the Bandit Queen, for some reason dressed as a horny teenage boy’s idea of an Olympic equestrian, lounging provocatively on the couch across from him. Barely batting an eyelid, he moved into Matt’s line of vision and casually remarked, “So you were right about being followed, then, Bells. Go figure. You wanted to see me?”

“I didn’t want to see you,” Matt corrected him with a pout, “she did.” He nodded in the direction of the Bandit Queen, who had popped to her feet and was grinning widely at the sight of Senor Howard, who was looking very fetching indeed in tight black jeans and a fitted black coat, blonde hair tousled and cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Even better,” Dom smirked, turning to her and extending a hand. “Lovely to see you again, sweetheart. Now, how can I help?”

“Senor Howard,” the Bandit Queen gushed, taking his hand in both her own “we most pleased you came. We have something for you.”

“You do?” Dom responded, valiantly keeping his gaze above chest level. “And what might that be?” A tell-tale high-pitched Bellamy giggle behind him had Dom looking over his shoulder suspiciously, but Matt was a picture of innocence considering his position.

“We do,” the Bandit Queen burbled excitedly, squeezing Dom’s hand and then picking up a piece of paper and passing it to him with a charming smile.

Taking it with a perplexed frown, Dom unfolded it and started to read, his eyes widening in shock almost immediately. A choked gasp escaped his throat as red began to creep up from under his collar to flood his face.

“Pedro can no write the English,” the Bandit Queen told him, “so he tell and we write down. Is good, si?”

“Ahhh... yeah,” Dom stuttered. “Good. Thanks for, um, bringing me this.” He coughed and stuffed the note in his pocket, avoiding Matt’s mirthful blue eyes.

“You have message for Pedro in return?” The Bandit Queen inquired enthusiastically.

“Oh!” Dom said in surprise, large grey eyes darting about as he fidgeted uneasily. “Um... Just tell him thanks and I’ll... give it some thought.”

“Give what some thought, Dom?” Matt sing-songed evilly. “What did it say?! Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“Is private, Senor Bellamy,” the Bandit Queen tutted, “don’t be nosey. Oh, Senor Howard, Pedro be mucho happy to hear that. He _very_ fond of you.” She winked saucily at him. “We can see why.”

“Oi!” Matt interjected. “That’s enough of that. Anyway, Dom, aren’t you going to ask why I’m tied to this chair?”

Dom snuck him a look of gleeful spite, pulling out his phone and quickly snapping off several photos with the camera function. “No, Bells, I’m not.”

Matt snorted tetchily. “You better not’ve just done what I think you did, Howard! And you’re not going to try and free me?! I’ve been kidnapped by an unhinged horse woman and imprisoned in my own home, for the love of God!”

“Truthfully, Bellamy,” Dom said in a serious tone, giving a beaming Bandit Queen the once over and shaking his head in disbelief, “do you _really_ want to be rescued?”

“Well... now that you mention it... _nooooo_ ,” Matt admitted. “But that’s not the point! You’re my best friend. You should be trying to save me from this raving loony anyway!”

“I think not,” Dom said firmly, ignoring Matt to give the Bandit Queen a winning white grin. “Have fun, won’t you, love? I’m glad this idiot’s ransom money went to such a worthy recipient.” He gave her a friendly peck on the cheek, making her blush and giggle, and began to leave the room. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve some new pictures to post to my MySpace.” And with a diabolical cackle, he made a dash for the door, leaving Matt swearing revenge in his wake.

Hurrying back to his car, Dom pretended the note burning a hole in his coat wasn’t there as he muttered, “No one ever stalks and kidnaps _me_. I hate that lucky, _lucky_ bastard,” as he pushed a button on his phone and held it to his ear, waiting for it to connect. A familiar voice answered and he spoke up in a rush. “Chris, man, you are not going to _believe_ what’s happening to Bells as we speak...”

***

The Bandit Queen’s dreamy sigh broke through to Matt as he ranted to himself about how hard it would be to find a new drummer who’d actually put up with him. “And what are _you_ sighing about?!” He barked.

“Senor Howard,” the Bandit Queen breathed. “He _very_ attractive man. Obvious why Pedro in love with him. Also much better dressed than you, with much cooler hair.”

“Do you mind?!” Matt demanded. “ _I’m_ the one you stalked, lassoed and hogtied, so you’ll kindly lust after me and me _only_.”

“So spoilt,” the Bandit Queen said despairingly. “Senor shut up now. We have work to do.”

Matt’s eyes flashed angrily and his chair rattled against the floor as he fought the tightly secured ropes holding him down. “Unless this ‘work’ is me giving you a damn hard seeing to, you can bugger right off.”

Blithely disregarding Matt’s little tantrum, the Bandit Queen left the room and returned a few moments later clutching a box in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. She shook the box in Matt’s face and the words ‘L’Oreal for Men’ and ‘Ebony Night’ caught his eye as the Bandit Queen moved her mouth to his ear and whispered, “You no be seeing to the Bandit Queen, damn hard or otherwise, until your hair black and naughty again, Senor Bellamy.” Her lips brushed against his neck before the tip of her tongue slipped out and briefly skittered over his ear lobe. “We go to bathroom now, si? We do all our bandit compadres’ hair, so you in safe hands.”

Too stunned to respond coherently, the closeness of the Bandit Queen’s magnificent bosom, her warm, soft breath on his skin and the idea that he wasn’t going to get any unless he had black hair effectively silencing any protests, Matt leaned back compliantly as his chair was pulled onto two legs and dragged from the room with him still attached.

***

An hour later and cock _still_ unattended to, Matt was the reluctant possessor of sharply-cut ebony hair once more. No way was he telling the harpy hairdresser responsible, but it looked pretty fucking styley. She obviously thought so, if the lust-tinged smile she was sending him over his shoulder in the mirror was anything to go by. “Happy now, psycho stalker?” Matt inquired sarkily, raising an eyebrow. He couldn’t believe she’d managed the entire process without once untying him.

“We mucho happy indeed, Senor,” the Bandit Queen confirmed, ruffling her handiwork with a contented purr. “You extra delicious and gropable with pretty black hair. Brown hair all very well, but makes Senor cute, not sex monster.”

“Sex monster, eh?” Matt leered. “Bit easier to live up to such a title if I’ve got the use of my arms and hips, woman.”

“We untie you very soon,” she assured, stroking her hands over his shoulders and under his leather jacket. Matt groaned lightly as her fingertips ghosted over his nipples, hands travelling further to lift his t-shirt and tease the skin of his stomach. The Bandit Queen grinned at her reflection as Senor Bellamy’s eyes fell closed and his head lolled to the side, elongating his exquisite neck. She wanted to taste him so badly, have him devour her, but she just needed to hold out a tiny bit longer in order to get everything just as she wanted it.”Tell me, Senor,” she murmured at Matt’s ear. “What has happened to all your bright, tight clothes?”

“Eh?” Matt replied dazedly, distracted by the location of the Bandit Queen’s hands in relation to his crotch. He was aching with need. Dom hadn’t been wrong, he _was_ gagging for it. He hadn’t had sex in _months_ and she was so terribly enticing. Especially with her tits crushed against his upper back.

“Your beautiful clothes,” she continued quietly, toying with his belt buckle. “All the red and the white and the sparkly. You no wear in long time. Where they gone?”

“They’ve not gone anywhere,” Matt answered, biting back a frustrated moan as the Bandit Queen’s fingers drifted back up his torso. “All my old stage stuff’s in the cupboard in the hallwa-“

A delighted squeal erupted from the Bandit Queen before he could finish, and she kissed the top of his head before disappearing out the door with a skip in her step, leaving Matt staring into the mirror in bafflement.

Meanwhile, the Bandit Queen had sprinted into the hallway and wrenched open the large double doors she’d found outside the kitchen. She didn’t know where to look first. Red. White. Black. Sparkly. _Tight_. Hanger after hanger of ridiculous hotness. Squeeing loudly, she dived forward and grabbed the first thing she encountered, wrenching it away and holding it up to the light. An ecstatic groan vibrated her frame as she took in the glory in her grasp- Senor Bellamy’s red and white Dior bomber jacket. The Bandit Queen jumped up and down, muttering feverishly in Spanish, and nabbed something else. The penguin tux! “Madre a dios!” She yelped. A third delve produced the Holy Grail of Bellamy clothing- the one and only silver glitter trousers. The Bandit Queen fell to her knees. She was so grateful she could _weep_.

“What the fuck is going on out there?!” Matt bellowed from the bathroom, thoroughly rattled by all the orgasmic squealing that he wasn’t directly responsible for.

The Bandit Queen didn’t reply. She was too busy pulling all the wonderful clothes off their hangers, placing them in a pile on the floor and then rolling around on top of them, all the while clutching the glitter trousers to her chest and whimpering lustily. Heaven. She was in _heaven_!

“Seriously!” Matt roared. “Get back in here, you fruitbat. I think you’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

Reluctantly extracting herself from her fabric paradise, the Bandit Queen lurched back into the bathroom and waved the silvery pants at Matt, panting hysterically. “Senor... agree... wear these... and Senor get... _royally_ fucked.”

***

It was deeply lame, what he’d put up with just to get laid. He was thoroughly ashamed of himself. But not enough to act the prude. Matt adjusted the glitter trousers (they were a lot tighter than he remembered) and rolled his eyes as the Bandit Queen returned to the bedroom she’d released him into from the back garden, where she’d just set fire to the outfit he’d been wearing. After she’d ritually cut it from his body first. “Was that _really_ necessary?”

“We doing you favour, Senor. You rock god. Should no go round dressed like Albanian pimp.”

“How do _you_ know what an Albanian pimp looks like?!” Matt demanded, stung by her cruel words. “And I bought that jacket in South America!”

“Explains much. Whole continent badly dressed,” the Bandit Queen responded tartly. Her gaze took in his new attire, drooling desire making a swift return, the horrors of Senor Bellamy’s laughably awful clothes and hair forgotten. The legendary trousers she’d blackmailed him into fitted in all the right places, and were topped with a temptingly tight v-neck white t-shirt and black braces. And his hair was _perfect_. He looked edible and she was _so_ hungry. Not long now.

 _She has that look in her eye again_ , Matt observed silently. The highly distracted, massively horny green glint that he remembered very well, the perfect time to make mischief as her lightning fast reflexes would be muddled and clumsy. He was sick of being made to jump through various sadistic fangirl hoops to get some action, sick of cringing under her sharp wit, far more nimble than his own- a fact that was extra irritating on top of everything else. His house invaded, his clothes cut from him and burnt gleefully, his hair messed with, when he’d been _sooo_ proud of how long and shaggy he’d grown it, and finally, forced to wear the pants that everyone, even his Mum, thought were gay (personally, he thought they were the coolest fucking pants in the history of pants, but had to make out he’d been tricked into buying them, as no else agreed. Not even Dom!).

He’d had enough, and remembering he was no longer tied to the chair, the Bandit Queen being forced to cut him loose as she systematically shredded his old clothes, Matt lunged forwards, using his rather paltry weight to knock the Bandit Queen off her feet, the element of surprise helping him out. With a squeak she fell backwards awkwardly on the bed, finding the Senor on her in a split second, straddling her with his sparkly thighs and grinning down at her in an annoyingly smug fashion. “We... we no say you can do that,” she breathed, struggling wildly under him, half in defiance, half for the fun of it. She slapped at his chest half-heartedly, but then her hands were snatched and pinned to the mattress, and oh no, his face descended, wicked blue eyes freezing her to the spot as he nipped at her plump lips.

“Hmmm... no, you bad man, off now,” she hissed between light kisses. “We no finished, must take pictures for dodgy fangirl website... ooh!” A tongue was thrust into her throat, exploring her leisurely in a manner that made her immediately think of that appendage elsewhere, her jodhpur-clad loins flaming in response.

But Matt was momentarily diverted, as always attracted by _anything_ dodgy, so he ceased his assault on her inviting mouth, lifting his head and quirking a brow at her curiously. “Have you been holding people at gunpoint to surf the ‘net again?” He snickered. “God, you’re so mental... and what dodgy website? It’s not the one where they all want me to be gay with Dom, is it?” He’d heard of that place, but had been too much of a wuss to check it out. Dom, however...

“Donkey farm has wireless,” the Bandit Queen told him proudly before abruptly looking shifty, her lovely eyes narrowing as she considered if it was a good idea to tell him. She decided _not_. “But we tell you nothing, is big secret, you only go on there and make trouble,” she sniffed. “But we take sexy pictures for nice smutty girls, also tired of your photo-avoiding and loser outfits, so get skinny arse off me. Now. We go downstairs and you lie on nice red couch and pose like sexy bitch you are”

Matt was even more intrigued now, and his small lips formed into a sulky pout, wanting to know more about these ‘smutty girls’, his favourite type of female, but his dick gave an impatient twitch, sensing the close proximity of a corset-clad heaving bosom and a nice, tight, wet... “Tough, Bandit Queen. No more fucking orders, this is _my_ house and I give the orders around here,” he said sternly, his sharp face suddenly dark and intense.

The Bandit Queen’s nostrils flared, tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip nervously as insults faded to be replaced by a little voice yelling in her head, “Si, si, _si_!” Now she had styled him to her complete satisfaction, it was hard to find anything to ridicule, he was utterly scrumptious and she wanted him. Any filthy, depraved, possibly illegal, way he wanted. “Maybe later,” she said weakly, rolling her head back to let him sink his teeth into her golden throat.

Her neck was rudely savaged, hot, hard lips, a questing tongue; the little sounds of distress escaping the suddenly limp woman pleasing the ravenous man rather a lot.  He ground his glitter-clad crotch emphatically against her belly, letting his deft hands slide down her heaving chest to peel the fetching red coat from her body, then dance over the front of her corset, fumbling for the metal hooks that stopped him from reaching her huge tits. “Love the outfit, but you’re getting naked, bossy minx,” he whispered into her skin, flicking the first hook open as he raised himself slightly on his knees so he could eye his progress.

The Bandit Queen restrained herself from nodding emphatically, instead trying to look bored as Matt made swift work of the tricky hooks, letting her tits bounce free and her lungs expand in a deep, sensuous gasp. Greedily he was straight in there, burying his face in her soft, soft flesh and groaning happily, and she could no longer keep it up, deep purrs matching the blissed out expression on her face as her nipples were suckled firmly, each given attention, then both, pulled into his mouth at the same time. “Oh, oh... dios mio!” She squeaked, lifting her hips at each tug. “Senor so clever and _bad_.”

There was a self-satisfied glint of blue eyes, a muffled laugh around her nipples, one more stinging bite and Matt managed to pull himself away, though he could have stayed there for a long time, worshiping the greatest pair of breasts he’d _ever_ seen. “Stay right there, don’t move,” he murmured, sliding off her and over to the left side of the bed. “I have _many_ clever tricks to show you.” Leaning over he pulled open the bottom drawer in the bedside table, his ‘special’drawer _,_ rummaging inside as the Bandit Queen watched, noticing many items she’d read about in stories on the dodgy website but never actually seen, some rather alarming.

But then, not for the first time, she was distracted by his arse, his lovely round cherub-like bottom poking up in the air, all sparkly and tempting, and never known for being obedient she rolled over and raised her arm, smacking him solidly on one cheek, then the other. He squealed like a girl and almost fell face first into the drawer of tricks, making her burst into helpless giggles. “Ahaha! Many smutty girls wish to do that, Senor Bellamy,” the Bandit Queen told him gleefully. “And we get to! This holiday sooo worth all stupid foreigners we have to rob to get money.” He whirled around, spluttering indignantly, his eyes narrowed in pique, then lunged forwards, holding something shiny and silver in his hands. “Ooh, handcuffs!” She squeaked happily. “Like pigdog policeman who try arrest me once. You arresting me, Senor?”

Too curious to put up a fight she just let herself be set upon, her hands dragged up to the headboard of the bed, shoved through the bars, the interesting item then clicked around her wrists swiftly as Matt sneered down at her, a mad giggle twitching on his lips. “Yes, you horrible woman,” he spat, swallowing back his mirth. “You have been a _very_ bad girl today and you’re not going anywhere until you’re punished. Severely.” The Bandit Queen looked rather startled at this, her tits jiggling as she pulled experimentally at the cuffs, eyes going wide as he crawled over her and began yanking at her tight breeches, in a tearing hurry to relieve the ache in his balls, looking very pretty and very, very cross.

“You forget boots, silly,” she taunted, lifting one leg to give him a swift kick in the bottom, earning herself another icy glare and not caring less, hoping to see him even crosser as she suspected the results might be quite... educational. Matt dived south, pulling the shiny footwear from her calves and then dealing with her pants, finding her naked underneath, the dark hair between her thighs pointing his way.

“No knickers? You dirty bitch,” Matt growled, pushing her taut thighs apart and scooting between them, the woman whining and lifting herself off the bed in sudden invitation. The Bandit Queen had travelled a long way to see that hungry look on his pale face, the sight of him in those tight, bright pants, straining the zipper with a massive erection which was just for her, and she was foolishly eager for his tongue, his long, silky fingers she remembered toying with her, and then... _Puta madre,_ she remembered _that_ the most!

“We never wear them,” she gasped. “Por favor, we sorry for everything we did if you eat us.” An impatient buck of her curvy hips into his hovering face, and then there was a slight vibration of a frankly _evil_ chuckle, the merest sweep of his tongue over her dripping flesh. But she tasted too good, so he forgot his sinister plans for the moment and took a mouthful of her folds, letting his tongue slide between them and up, jabbing at her clit with long, firm strokes.

She had been noisy in the tent and was no different now, shrieking like a wildcat and wrapping her legs firmly around his back, smothering him with her desire for more friction, and Matt gave it to her, bringing her to the very edge of a delightful explosion in a matter of moments before he pulled away, the evil laugh back with reinforcements. “Not so fast,” he said; a cheeky grin on his wet lips as he met her furious stare. “Bad girls sodding well wait.” Without pausing for a retort, he grasped her narrow waist, turning her on her face, the handcuffs twisting painfully around her wrists. There was a stream of curses in Spanish, the Bandit Queen was not used to being restrained and helpless, and did not like the awkward position of her hands.

But then his slender fingers were on her buttocks, squeezing handfuls of the flesh, pinching, and that she did like, very much. “Hmmm, your arse is almost as nice as your tits, Bandit Queen,” he murmured appreciatively. “I’m glad you’re here after all, as there’s something I’ve always wanted to do but didn’t get a chance before.” And with that Matt was gone, leaving her on her knees facing the headboard, wondering what he was plotting. But he was back quickly enough, having fetched something that had been resting over the back of a chair in the corner of the room, an item he was sure she’d recognise. He hopped back on the bed, his black and white stripey belt held ready in his hand. “I bet no one’s ever given you a fucking good thrashing in your life,” Matt observed, getting an audible gulp in response. “It’s about bloody time, I think.”

Twisting her head, spotting the familiar belt in his right hand, the Bandit Queen’s green eyes widened to saucers as she twigged where it was going. She couldn’t help jumping when it was thwacked down hard across her bottom, biting back a screech that she knew he wanted to hear, but when more sharp blows came swiftly after she could not hold them in, yelling her head off in her mother tongue at the burning sensation, then moaning like a cheap _puta_ when he paused to slide his fingers inside her pussy, interspersing the blows cleverly with something sweetly familiar. “Argh! Bastardo! We no like... stop! Ooh... _more_.” Senor Bellamy was driving her loco, conflicting feelings swirling in her stomach, making her nipples stand out like bullets, her arse lift up, begging, pleading for it to stop, for it to go on, and Matt was loving it, exquisite revenge for once again being stalked, ambushed, roughed up and bossed about by his most determined and crafty of fangirls.

Eventually his twinging dick reminded the small, yet forceful man of the urgency of matters, and satisfied she was wet and wound up enough, Matt dropped the belt on the bed, sliding his braces slinkily off his shoulders and fumbling for the zipper on his fabulous pants. “Since you like these clothes so much,” he told the whimpering Bandit Queen, “I’m gonna fuck you wearing them.”

At a familiar pat on her pink-tinged bottom, and the ominous feel of his cock poking at her entrance, she whined, “But we no see! Por favor, turn us back so we can look at you, Senor.”

Matt chuckled in dismissal, sliding a hand down her bare back to grab a handful of glossy raven hair, turning her head around so their eyes met; hers frantic and darting, his icily calm. Her small brown fingers clenched, wishing the handcuffs would vanish so she could slap that pointy face. “No,” he smiled quite sweetly. “I want to bang you so hard from behind you won’t be able to sit on that stolen horse for a week.” And with a determined clench of his jaw he moved, finding her slick opening and thrusting inside in one skilled movement, pushing right up into her body without pause until he was completely buried.

The Bandit Queen had no time to absorb the incredible heat and pressure filling every inch of her pussy, unhinged bellows echoing around the room as Matt proceeded to fuck her so vigorously her teeth rattled and bones shook, and she was forced to look at him as he worked, her twisted neck aching along with her twisted hands. But she was mesmerised by his face, that guitar violating face that she’d drooled over in hundreds of pictures, had seen many times in the tent back in the desert. Her poor mind was straining along with her body, the insane asylum back home in her village her possible fate. It was too vicious, too rough, too fucking _good_ ; resenting the way this whiny, uncooperative, weedy man was making her so weak, she plotted revenge even as a fiery orgasm built and built in her aching, tingling loins.

Her hair was abruptly released and she hid her face in her arms, muffling her cries as his movements became a series of deep, slamming blows, grunts and mumbles forming into words. “Fucking tight, juicy... ah fuck... take it all, bitch,” Matt spat. “Gonna come in you now... hmmm, let me find it, aah...” A hand slid between the Bandit Queen’s splayed thighs, fingers rolling her swollen clit back and forth, and with a vixen-like shriek that sliced through his buzzing brain her taut walls closed around him in a storm of ripples, sucking his cock down and down and wrenching his orgasm from him abruptly. “Ooh, fucking hell!” Matt howled, throwing his head back and jerking against her imprisoned arse, spurting into her in a flood that seemed to remove his spine along with the dead weight in his long-neglected balls.

He toppled forwards, landing over her shaking body and squashing her into the mattress. She could feel him giggling and kissing her shoulders gratefully and she could not help laughing too, rather weakly. “Ha ha! How was that, my Bandit Queen? Because it was fuckin’ _top_ for me.” Matt gave her one last, lazy thrust then pulled out, climbing off and slapping one curvy flank as he went. “Tasty as always. It was totally worth being knocked out, tied up and dressed up like a Ken doll. You’re damn lucky I don’t come with irremovable plastic underpants, though.”

Matt waited for her to babble her gratitude as well, but he waited in vain. The Bandit Queen rolled over on her back with a frustrated sigh, blowing tangled hair off her rosy face and giving him a withering look. “Was crap,” she snarled, keeping a straight face impressively. “No like at all. Too fast, and you beat me!”

She was lying of course, and he knew it, but Matt was still wounded, lifting his nose in a haughty sniff. “Haven’t had a shag in a long time,” he muttered defensively. “And anyway, we have plenty of opportunity to try again, eh?”

“No,” she smirked annoyingly. “You had all you going get. You let out of nasty cuffs now. We go home. Your silly country very cold, and you look dirty sexy again now, so Bandit Queen’s job done. Fangirls be mucho pleased.”

Unsure if she was teasing, Matt opted to give her his most kittenish look of appeal, widening his blue eyes and smiling seductively, displaying his cute crooked teeth. “Ah, come on, my queen,” he drawled. “I will let you out, but stay for the night, at least. I want to hear all about your donkey farm, especially about the donkey named after me, and how your bandit mates are doing.” He paused, watching her face soften, her eyes go slightly misty. “Besides, you can help me with my veggie garden; it’s doing my head in.”

Holding his breath slightly, Matt waited for her reply, actually wanting her to stay for a little bit longer so he could shag her sideways (who knew where his next fuck might be coming from? It would be idiotic indeed not to exploit this golden opportunity; maybe give Dom a run for his money in the ‘reality porno’ department), even admitting to himself that he quite enjoyed having her around, bonkers and bossy as she was.

“We tethered horse in veggie patch. There no hope for it,” the Bandit Queen informed, holding back a giggle as Matt’s face fell comically. “However, we thrilled to stay as Senor asks,” she told him huskily, holding up a hand to halt him in his tracks as he made a move towards her, “but only if we take sexy pictures for loyal, smut-loving fangirls and...” Matt rolled his eyes, waiting for the rest. “And... you sing for us,” she added stubbornly. “Like you did on the Bandit Queen’s horse, when we give you back to luscious Senor Howard and charming Senor Wolstenholme. You no give us new songs yet, will have to do. We just want hear your beautiful voice, Senor Bellamy”

Pursing his delectable mouth, not at all appreciating that ‘luscious’ comment about Dom, Matt finally nodded, deciding that, when the sex was this epic, she really wasn’t asking too much. He leant over her naked form to set her free from the handcuffs and breathed, “Whatever you want, as always, you utterly bewitching, barmy bitch.”

_You make me sick_

_Because I adore you so_

_I love all the dirty tricks_

_And twisted games you play_

_On me_

**THE END**


End file.
